Undercover & Overprotective
by Saintsavory
Summary: Set at the end of S2:13 in the middle of the episode when Alex visits Piper in prison and says she's skipping town. Everything after that scene didn't happen—that's where this story goes into AU land.
1. Chapter 1

This story is complete, though I haven't broken it down into chapters yet. It's fairly short-roughly 50 pages in Word. I don't think it's anywhere near my best work, but I'll let you all be the judge of that. Thank you for reading.

* * *

 _I'm skipping town._

 _You can't._

 _I don't have a choice_.

I wasn't supposed to be there. If they found out, I'd be fucked, but I had to say goodbye.

 _When I go, Piper, I can't come back_.

 _You can't leave me._

Her face crumbled, and I nearly lost my shit. _Fuck_ the deal I made with the feds. _Fuck_ my freedom and _fuck_ Piper's safety—I needed to be with her even if it meant getting thrown into prison again. Even if it meant putting her life in danger.

No.

No, I couldn't do that. I _wouldn't_.

 _I know that my track record is shit, but I really do love you._

She has to believe me. _Please_ believe. When I walked out of there with the possibility of never seeing her again, it damn near killed me.

At first, Piper recoiled—said she hated me; we both knew that wasn't true. She loves me despite her better judgement.

Same.

* * *

The first three months of training were brutal—5 a.m. wake up calls that led to an hour of physical activity, followed by eight hours of lectures and simulations, ending with another hour of intense physical training. I asked questions often: Why me? What am I training to do? Will my life be in danger? Until I completed Level I, my questions went mostly unanswered. All I knew was that I signed my life away to become a narc. A fucking _narc_.

It wasn't until the fifth month when Agent Pratt, the lead training officer, held me back on a Friday afternoon when I got some answers.

"You had a rough start, Vause." He twirled a pen between his fingers like he was about to perform a magic trick. "However, your physical stamina has improved dramatically, and you've scored at least 95% on every assessment."

I remained silent, hands in my lap—I learned early on not to speak unless directed to do so.

He gave me a once-over before blurting out, "You're going to be an undercover informant."

When I agreed to work for the DEA I was told, "Come work for us, and we'll protect you." That was followed by a litany of questions about Kubra, all of which I answered to the best of my ability to help them nail his ass. He's still at large, which freaks the shit out of me, but that's a story for another time.

"The core of what we do—this undercover work—is assimilation not differentiation. Kingpins are brilliant and devious. We need our informants to look and think like them in order to catch them. No one is better at this than former high-profile drug dealers." Pratt leaned forward, desk chair creaking like a spring would pop right out of it. "That's where you come in."

I figured I'd be an agent of some sort, mostly behind the computer, maybe as the back-up for a back-up agent, not an undercover informant who'd come face to face with guys like Kubra.

"You have the skills, the presence and the intelligence to fit into most situations involving high end drug sales."

"I haven't learned anything about undercover work," I confessed, anxious that they'd picked the wrong person.

"You'll continue with your cohort through Level II, then during Level III, you'll do intense undercover study and training. You'll be assigned a veteran partner at that time." He set the pen down and cracked his knuckles. "Any questions?"

"Yeah, tons," I let out a muffled, incredulous laugh. "I don't even know where to begin."

Pratt tossed a thick paperback across the desk. "Here's a book, detailing life as an undercover informant. Read it. Take notes. When questions arise, jot them down. You and I will meet twice a week through Level III."

"Is everyone else in my cohort going to do undercover work?"

He walked to the door, signaling this conversation was seconds away from over whether I had more questions or not. "We've singled you out at this juncture, and we expect you to keep it confidential."

I nodded, following him towards the entryway.

"I'll see you on Monday, same time, Vause."

With that, I went to my dorm room and began reading what the fuck I was getting myself into.

* * *

The best part of my seventh month of training was getting low-level access to classified sites and files. Although it took some time, I finally found out how to access the Litchfield database. I wasted no time searching for Piper's name and held my breath as it popped up, revealing she'd spent three days in Seg for an altercation with an officer, which extended her sentence by two months. If my math was correct, that meant she'd be getting released within a matter of days.

I wanted to call her—tell her I was fine, but all six of us in my cohort received daily reminders that we were to have no contact with the outside world until training was over. That proved difficult for all of us, particularly Blake, a newlywed from Albany who missed his wife to the point of finally quitting. All of us were in this federal training program as ex-cons, and I learned later that only 5% of those who begin training actually complete it.

By month eight I'd read four books about undercover work and nearly 100 files that covered all sorts of scenarios. The work sounded interesting though occasionally dangerous. My next assignment was the most fascinating one: dressing in costume to gather intelligence.

I'd get orders two or three times a week to meet an agent at random locations around DC at all hours of the day. My goal was to extract information from unsuspecting people to get the hang of how to be persuasive and come across as trustworthy in a short amount of time. Every assignment was different—I had to find out one woman's birthday in the middle of the day at Wal-Mart; discover the maiden name of another woman at a playground in Foggy Bottom; and get a 20-something year old man to give me his password to his iPhone in the lobby of a Marriott. I went through 20 of these random tests, only coming up short twice.

By the time I completed Level III of training, I received my assignment to work for the DEA in the Northeast Narcotics Division, which meant relocating to New York City. The placement officer and I took the train from DC to Penn Station, so he could show me the six apartments where I'd call home for no more than three months at a time. Each location would be within a mile of where the assignment was based.

"Although you're still listed in the classified federal database as Alex Vause, there's no record of you living or working in the US in the present tense," the placement officer said, ushering me into a basement apartment two blocks from the train station. "Anyone who does an Internet search for you will have access to your public life through your time at Litchfield, but it stops there."

"So, it'll look like I don't live in the country? Like I just disappeared?"

"That's right." He gave me a firm head nod. "If you eventually want to tell family and friends where you are, they'll have to be trusted sources, and we'll need to run a background check on all of them before you disclose anything in addition to a formal screening process."

Other than Piper, there was no one I felt the need to tell about my work.

"What about my paychecks? My driver's license and passport?"

"Your only bank account remains in the federal credit union in DC. Your checks will be direct deposited, and we'll deduct a small amount each month for living expenses. You can access any ATM with the fake identities we'll establish for you. Those will automatically connect to your real bank account." He opened the bedroom door to show me the sparse living conditions. "You'll essentially become someone new for every case. Sometimes cases will take a couple days and sometimes they'll take upwards of six months to resolve. Some are never resolved."

"I _become_ them?"

"Yes." He returned to the living room. "The DEA takes tracking very seriously. You'll buy only essential items like groceries and clothing and be ready to move within 24 hours as you receive orders. You'll report to the New York field office when you're not undercover, and a team will work with you to put together your new persona when necessary."

I'd watched enough undercover videos and read enough files to understand what he meant about changing identities. There would be times I'd have to wear a blue wig and contact lenses and other times when I'd have to dye my hair and wear eyeglasses the complete opposite of the ones I own. _Assimilate not differentiate._

"This line of work is either something you'll love or hate after the first couple of cases. About a month into it, your field supervisor will assess how you're doing and determine if it suits you. Any questions?"

I always had questions, but I knew a verbal answer would never be enough—I had to live a life as someone else to get my questions fully answered.

* * *

After my first case as an undercover informant, I was hooked. My role was to play a wealthy graduate student who was just getting into the high-end drug scene. I wore a short-haired brown wig and iridescent cat eye glasses. My clothing was _professorial_ for lack of a better term—I could fit in with the NYU grad students without missing a beat. My goal was to get the name of the dealer's boss' boss, a task which I accomplished in ten days.

My second and third cases were equally tantalizing, and there was no question I was good at this kind of work. It reminded me of my younger years when I was on the wrong side of the law. I lived high on the hog, went to fancy parties and clubs and was respected by the higher-ups in the cartel. Although my undercover work didn't involve traveling to exotic locations, it was equally thrilling and rewarding. Of course the big difference this time was I was the one sending people to jail instead of the other way around. There was something about it that didn't sit well with me—the tattling part, but it was either this or prison for another five or six years, and the likelihood of my returning to Litchfield was slim. I didn't want to be in prison if it wasn't with Piper.

My partner was not someone I would have chosen for myself, but apparently that's exactly why we were paired—we don't look like a couple. Not that we'd often pose as a couple when undercover, but we don't even look like we'd be friends. That's precisely the point. If we're in the same room even when I'm in costume, no one would predict we're together. He's short, stocky, blond hair, brown eyes and a lopsided smile. He reminds me of the young, male attorney on _The Good Wife_ , Cary something. Kevin Bosworth married his high school sweetheart when he was 20. He has spent his entire career with the DEA, and I'm only his second partner in a 15-year career.

When I wasn't in the field, I was in the New York office. I spent upwards of 50 hours a week working behind a desk, but not a day went by without thinking about Piper. I learned that she was released from prison, and I assumed was living with her parents in Connecticut. I wanted to contact her, but I figured she was still pissed at me for skipping town, plus I didn't want to jeopardize any of my cases by revealing too much to her. Everything was still so new, and I needed to establish myself a bit more before reaching out to her. If I would have been satisfied with a quick phone call or two, I would've made it happen, but I wanted more from her than a fleeting moment of confessions and apologies. If I could hold out another three months, I'd find a way to see her and explain everything if she'd allow it.

Fate had other plans.


	2. Chapter 2

What they don't show in movies or highlight in novels is the amount of waiting around one has to do when undercover. Last month, Kevin and I waited in the car for four hours for our target to leave her house. You get to know a lot about a person when you have nothing to do but wait.

"I hope we nail this bastard today," he says, running a thumb and forefinger over his fake mustache. "Mia and I are supposed to go to Fire Island tomorrow."

I can't hide my curious grin. "Fire Island?"

"Yeah." he chuckles. "You got a problem with that?"

"No, not at all. I love Fire Island." I return his smile, lifting an eyebrow. "People of my disposition love Fire Island."

"The gay disposition?" Our casual conversations have always been light and easy. "My brother-in-law and his husband own a house on the water. Six bedrooms, five and half baths, plus a casita for guests who want a little more privacy."

"So, more like a _mansion_ than a house?" I tease.

"Yeah, you could say that."

We sit in comfortable silence for a few minutes. I'm thankful for the man next to me. I never knew what to expect from a government official, but Kevin is alright. He's more than alright. I've met his wife, Mia, a couple of times, and she seems like a decent person, too. They aren't the type of people I would've been friends with before prison, but I like them now—their normalcy is good for me.

"You've never talked about anyone special." He rolls down the window, letting in some fresh air, and I realize in that moment how badly the car reeks of Doritos. "I don't mean to pry—"

"You're not prying," I reply, rolling down my window halfway. "If you would've mentioned that in our first couple of weeks together, it would've been prying."

He glances at me with a sincere smile.

"Piper Chapman," I sigh, leaving her name hang in the air as if _everyone_ knows about our relationship and just the mention of her name would leave Kevin with an understanding.

"Am I supposed to assume she was your girlfriend?"

"Something like that." I roll up my sleeves and give him the short and sweet version of our story, leaving out the part about my naming her to the feds, but telling him we spent time together in prison.

"Ever think about contacting her?"

"All the time." I prop my elbow on the door frame, resting my head on my palm and staring out the window.

"What's stopping you?"

"I don't know if she's ready to hear from me…" Another sigh. "I also don't know if I'm ready to face her and the fuck ton of questions she'll have."

"That doesn't sound like you." He pops a couple Tic-Tacs in his mouth, then offers me some, shaking three green pellets into my hand. "Not wanting to face someone."

"It's complicated." I leave it at that. Kevin doesn't need to know the detailed history of Piper and me at this point. "When the time is right, I'll talk to her." I turn my head and see the woman we've been staking out jog down her steps. "Looks like we're going to need to cut this conversation short."

* * *

Three months pass, and I've successfully accomplished every mission I've been on, minus one. I'm not assigned on the Kubra Balik case, and I've been told that I'll never be part of it; it hits too close to home. The powers that be inform me every month or so about Kubra's whereabouts, which is mostly outside of the country, but they haven't nabbed him yet, and I'm to remain on guard.

My nightmares about him or his goons finding and attacking me have subsided, but I still worry he'll go after Piper. I keep an eye on her as best as I can through official and unofficial channels, but I won't rest easy until he goes down.

Several weeks go by before I'm assigned to a new case. I was getting bored working behind a desk and Kevin was equally restless. This new case is potentially the most dangerous one yet. The DEA frowns upon its agents doing anything illegal, but when push comes to shove, we have to do anything necessary to maintain the trust of the perpetrators. Kevin had to do drugs once during his years of service, and he still talks about how frightening it was. When that happens, a band of backup agents must be present to handle matters if the agent or agents running the case are incapacitated.

"We had to inform the owner of the club," my field supervisor informs us. "It's not what I'd prefer, but the space is too big, and this case is too important to fuck things up for the sake of pride."

Kevin gives me a look. He hates when we can't go into a situation totally anonymous. There's the risk of the owner telling someone about the sting, and that person tells someone else, and the list goes on. Agents have been killed in these sorts of scenarios. I avoid thinking about that.

"Everything is arranged for Saturday night. You'll arrive at Club Sway at 10 p.m. and there will be a posse of undercover agents already present." He shows us still images of the interior of the club. "Lopez and LeBlanc will join you on the balcony. Tremaine and Reed will be on the dance floor. We'll have two other agents at the main entrance, one at the emergency exit and one posing as a bouncer." He goes on to describe the operation, shows us two videos and sends us on our way with files about the man we're trying to corner.

I've only carried a gun twice in my role as informant; Kevin is always armed. My outfits thus far have prevented me from concealing a weapon. Tonight, I'm going to have to find a way. The man we're trying to nab, Frank Rossellini, is known to carry multiple weapons and his associates are also armed. They got into a brawl with Italian officials a few years ago that ended in bloodshed, so we have to be prepared to defend ourselves.

At precisely ten o'clock, we pay the $20 cover, enter the club and head to the balcony. The music is loud, and the dance floor is packed. It smells like cologne and booze and maybe a little like sweat from bodies in motion. It wasn't all that long ago when I frequented clubs just like this all over the world. My heaviest clubbing days were after Piper left me in Paris. Those were dark times when I started using again to try to forget her. I blink my eyes, bringing myself back to the present.

"You ok?" Kevin sits in an armchair on the balcony designated for special guests, and I wonder who arranged for this area to be cleared upon our arrival.

I sit on the sofa and cross my legs, eyeing Lopez, the undercover agent next to me—a tall brunette who looks like a Hispanic Julia Roberts. "As good as I can be." My platinum blonde wig, though longer, reminds me of the one Piper wore many years ago in Brussels. I tug at the edges, ensuring it's perfectly in place.

"Nice outfit," Kevin comments, running his hand over his greased blond hair. He looks like a WWF wrestler with a half-buttoned silver shirt revealing his chest hair.

I look down at my gold sequined top and leather skirt. "Slutty enough?"

He chuckles. "Perfectly slutty."

I hear a sound check on my earbud, followed by instructions for me to check the tiny camera embedded in the sequins at the top of my blouse. "Vause, turn to your right."

I do as I'm told.

"And left."

Again, I turn my body that way. "Are we good?"

"Roger that," Agent Thompson reports from his spot in an unmarked van a block away. "Rossellini is making his way inside with three associates. Will let you know if another crew rolls in, but for now it's just the four of them."

One of the undercover agents sitting with us pulls out three vials of cocaine. She pours the fake one on a granite coaster.

A cocktail waitress approaches us, bringing the bottle of vodka we ordered (it's actually water), a bucket of ice and four glasses. Kevin craftily fills the glasses with ice and water, squeezing a lime into each. The four of us look like we're having fun laughing, dancing in our seats and getting high.

Rossellini approaches us, holding his hands out and jutting his chin forward. "Who gave you permission to sit here?"

Two of his goons shove their thumbs into the waistband of their pants, each revealing a revolver tucked on their hip.

"There's plenty of room for all of us," I say, scooting over and patting the cushion net to me.

He reaches for my hand, kissing the back of it, expression changing from suspicion to intrigue. "Who do I have the pleasure of meeting?"

"I'm Gisele," I lie. "This is Sandy and that's Maria." I motion towards the agents next to me. "And this is Willy Platt." I watch Rossellini's face contort when I say Kevin's fake name. Willy Platt is a well-known drug lord from Alabama who was recently picked up on a drug violation 24 hours ago. This information has not been made public yet because of this very case, which is yet another reason why we had to move quickly.

"Willy Platt?" Rossellini nods at Kevin. "Rumor has it you keep to your Confederate brethren down South. What are you doing here?"

"Thought I'd check out the scene in New York—see if I can find a few good folks to join my enterprise," Kevin offers with a cocky smile.

He looks a bit unsettled but turns and waves off his goons as he sits between me and the other female agent. "What do you have here?"

I pick up the granite coaster and a straw so that he doesn't reach for the fake stuff.

Sandy opens another vial, pouring it onto a slightly different coaster. She feeds him a line about this being the purist cocaine this side of the border and Rossellini seems to buy it. None of us make eye contact—it's too early to make a move, and we know there's at least one other member of Rossellini's crew nearby. If he senses something is amiss, this whole operation could fail.

There's some commotion coming from the stairwell as a gaggle of drunk girls make their way to the upstairs lounge.

"Renaldo!" Kevin calls our undercover bouncer over. "I thought we had an agreement?"

"Sorry, they're not supposed to be up here, sir. I'll take care of it."

Rossellini grins seemingly impressed with Willy Platt's power. He returns his gaze to the cocaine. "I doubt this stuff is better than mine but let me be the judge of that."

Two drunk women barge past the bouncer before Renaldo grabs each of them by the arm. I look up and see familiar blue eyes catch my own. _Piper_? Are you fucking kidding me? A confused expression crosses her face—like she knows my eyes but can't place my face. I have in blue contact lenses instead of glasses and my hair is the absolute opposite of its usual long, black and shiny hair. My body tenses and my eyes widen. She cannot come over here. _Please don't recognize me_.

She squirms out of the bouncer's grip, blinking a few times. " _Alex_?" comes out with a hint of disbelief.

Rossellini looks my way, scrutinizing me like I'm some obscure insect.

"That chic is fucking wasted," Kevin laughs it off, and I wonder if he senses a change in my demeanor. "Renaldo, take care of her." He then motions to Sandy. "Give me a hit of that sweet stuff."

Rossellini seems satisfied enough but he's still suspicious.

"I'm personally going to make sure these women don't get in the way of our little party. Excuse me." I slowly crawl over Rossellini, dragging my hand across his chest and giving him a nice view of my cleavage, earning me a smile.

Piper shakes her head in disbelief. "Alex is that you?"

Renaldo stands between us. "You have exactly five seconds to go back downstairs, lady."

I touch his shoulder. "I've got this."

"I have orders to—"

Agent Thompson's voice rings in my ear bud, "What's going on, Vause?"

I step impossibly close to the fake bouncer, chin raised. "You'll take orders from _me_ , Renaldo. Now move _the fuck_ out of the way. I've got this."

He reluctantly steps aside, and I turn my attention back to her. "Piper, you need to leave now."

"It _is_ you! What have you done?" She touches my blonde hair.

"I'm not fucking around." I pull away, grabbing her wrist harder than I mean to. "This is serious. Get out of the club _now_."

She shakes her head. "I don't understand."

"I'll explain later. _Please_ leave."

"You don't have my number," Piper comments, and I get the sense that she has no idea what she's just walked into.

I take her by the arm and escort her downstairs. "I'm not going to ask you again."

One of our other undercover agents is at the bottom of the stairwell, dealing with the two girls Piper was with.

"Will you please escort these women out of the club?"

"You can't kick me out! Alex!" She tries to follow me back upstairs, but there's no way she's getting past Agent Cheskey.

My heart rate skyrockets as I climb up the stairs again, and it's only then that I realize someone is talking in my ear piece again. I don't have time to contemplate how good it felt to see Piper—I have a job to do and my attention needs to be focused solely on that.

But her face, those eyes, that _mouth_ …

I return to our section of the lounge and see that my fellow agents have picked up the slack and are showing Rossellini a good time. Another person has joined our group, and I realize that's what Thompson is informing us in our ear pieces. It takes me a moment to return to the task at hand, thoughts of Piper pushed to the back of my mind.

We're there another 20 minutes before all four suspects are within reach. We wait for instructions to make our move, but not before I find myself in a compromising position. Rossellini demands that he take a hit off my chest, so my head is laying back against the sofa and my neck is exposed. We're taught never to expose our necks or wrists, and here I am, going against protocol for the good of the operation. I can tell by the set of his jaw that Kevin doesn't approve.

Kevin stands, hand on his waistband where I know his gun is hidden. "I want in on this action."

"Ask him to join you in the back room," Agent Thompson states in my ear piece. "Get Vause out of this situation."

I lift my head, tracing a finger down Rossellini's cheek. "Maybe we should go to the back room?"

"What's in the back room?" He's high—I can see it in his eyes. I'm not sure if that's good or bad.

"Privacy," I whisper.

He laughs like a villain in a movie. "I like privacy."

I lead him to the other side of the room where there's a thick, black door. As soon as we walk inside, two of our agents shove him to the floor and remove his weapon. I wipe my brow and wait for my next orders as Rossellini hisses words laced with vengeance.

"We've got a situation on the first floor," I hear in the ear bud. "Vause, there's a woman screaming your name and struggling with Agent Cheskey. Fix it!"

I rush out the room, making a bee line down the stairs, shaking my head with frustration.

"Alex!" Piper shoves Cheskey to the side, but he won't have any of it. He drags her outside with extreme force, and she yelps. "Ow, you're hurting me!"

I take over, hand on Piper's waist. "Are you fucking kidding me?" We walk briskly around the corner into an alley.

"I'm not leaving until I get answers!" she yells.

"Look at me." I wrap both hands on her shoulders and shake her. "Look at me and listen: you need to leave, Piper! This is not about you or me or us."

"I don't understand."

Just then, two gunshots ring out, drawing my attention above. They sound like they came from upstairs.

"Fuck." Once again, I grab her by the wrist and tug her around another corner until we reach the unmarked van. I pound on the back door. "It's Vause—55145."

Agent Thompson opens the door, and the other agent inside the van steps out. "What's going on?"

"Take her."

I run back towards the club, climbing the exterior stairwell and snagging my shin on a rusty, metal step. "Shit." I don't have to look down to know that it's bleeding. This whole time, Agent Thompson is giving orders to the other agents, but it's chaotic. I have to get to Kevin.

As I bang on the locked door, I hear people running out of the club in hysterics.

I'm filled with relief as Kevin opens the door. "Second floor secure," he says into his mic, ushering me inside where Rossellini is handcuffed next to what appears to be a dead goon. Our undercover agents finish handcuffing the other two other men and shoving them against the wall.

I don't leave the back room to deal with the chaos in the club, but the sounds of people screaming inside is deafening. I'm glad Piper is safe, but she has now compromised my position and could've potentially compromised the entire operation.

"Who was that woman?" Kevin asks, jaw tight and slightly out of breath.

I can't look him in the eye, knowing I put all of us in danger. Well, not _me_ , technically, but Piper. "My ex."

He nods once, jaw set. "Take care of it."

I glance around the room once more, making sure there's nothing I need to do, and then head for the same steps I climbed up minutes earlier. As I make my way to the van, I see another vehicle pull up and recognize the agent who steps out of it.

"You're bleeding." The agent doesn't stop to check on me; instead, he knocks on the side of the van three times, states his name and agent number.

Piper steps out of the van, cheeks stained with tears.

"What did you do to her?" I instinctively revert to _ProtectPiper_ mode.

Thompson folds his arms. "She says she knows you."

"I do—she's…she's," I stumble, worried about giving too much away.

"Your ex-girlfriend?" he asks.

 _Fuck_. "Yes. Her name is Piper Chapman."

"She's under arrest for impeding an investigation."

"How was I supposed to know Alex was undercover?" Piper blinks at me, though her question is directed at the other agents.

"The fake contacts and platinum wig didn't give it away?" I'm angry, but I have to fix this. "Look, sir, Piper and I haven't seen each other in nearly a year, and she was freaked out by my appearance. There was no way she could've known I was on a case."

"And now she's blown your cover," he says, handing Piper over to the other agent who drove up in the car.

"I'm going to take her in."

"No," I state firmly. "Let me talk to her, please."

The other agents exchange glances.

"Bring her to the field office by 8 o'clock sharp tomorrow, otherwise, I'll issue a warrant for her arrest."

"Does this mean I'm not going to jail?" Piper asks.

"For now." Thompson gets back into the van. "We have a shit load of clean up to do, Vause. I suggest you take off now and explain your disappearance to your partner later."

"Yes, sir."


	3. Chapter 3

I don't even have a car to take Piper somewhere to talk, nor can I can't take her to my apartment and risk her knowing where I live—that could eventually put both of us in jeopardy.

"Where are we going?"

"I don't know." I'm furious with the position she put both of us in, and if I look at her, she'll detect my anger. Piper is scared, and I don't want to make it worse, so I keep my eyes trained on the pavement. "I have no money, no car…"

"How far away do you live?"

"Miles," I reply, turning onto Lenox. "You?"

"Upper West Side."

"So, not that far?"

"No."

"Can we go to your place?" Finally, I glance at her, hoping the anger I'm sure she could've detected in my reddened cheeks has reduced.

I sense her hesitation. "I live with someone," she admits barely above a whisper.

That information shouldn't sting, but it does. "Larry?"

"No." She shakes her head. "A woman."

"I don't want to know any more than that." I let out an irritated sigh. "I need to tell you what's going on with me—with my job." I run my hands down my skanky outfit, wishing I was in jeans and a t-shirt so I'd feel more like myself. "And to explain what you've gotten yourself into before you have to go down to the field office tomorrow." I stop in the middle of the sidewalk. "So, where do you suggest we talk?"

She reaches into the pocket of her pants—her tight, white pants that I didn't allow myself to fully appreciate until now. "I have $20."

"You went to a club with only $20; not even a credit card?"

"My friend was buying drinks tonight. We take turns."

We make our way into a seedy bar in lower Harlem not far from the Apollo Theater. The way we're both dressed, we're sure to garner some unwanted attention, but I still have my gun tucked into the back of my skirt, so at least if things get out of hand, there's that.

"I should probably tell you I'm packing heat." I hold the door open for her.

Piper's eyebrows rise.

"Relax, it's a licensed firearm."

She glances up at me. "Still."

On instinct, I place my hand on her lower back, leading her to the bar. My hand has always fit perfectly in the space just above her ass.

The bartender tosses a rag over his shoulder and seems surprised when he finds the only two white women in the dimly lit place. "You come in here lookin' for directions?"

"No." I keep it simple. "Coors Light, please."

Piper slides the $20 bill across the bar. "Two."

He presents the longnecks to us, and then returns with Piper's change. "Here you go."

I lead Piper to a table at the far end of the room, feeling the stares of the six other black men in the small space. They aren't intimidating—they look like a bunch of guys telling stories in a bar.

She sits across from me and makes a face. "The table is sticky."

"It's not exactly The Ritz," I offer with an eye roll. I don't want to waste time on small talk, so I dive right in. "What did Agent Thompson tell you?"

"Not much." She wipes her hands on her thighs. "He asked a lot of questions."

"Like what?"

She takes a swig of beer. "My name, address, association with you…"

"What did you tell him?"

"The truth." Piper shrugs. "That we were girlfriends a long time ago and hadn't seen each other since prison."

I close my eyes, wishing I could snap my fingers and we would not be in this situation.

Piper leans in. "Did I say something wrong?"

I sigh. "I'm sure while Thompson was asking questions, the other agent in the van was doing a background check. They probably know more about you than I do."

She lowers her gaze. "That's unlikely."

"Did he tell you anything about me?" I sip the beer, and the burn feels good as it journeys down my throat.

She shakes her head.

I push the beer bottle aside, putting my forearms on the table. She's right—it's sticky. "I'm an undercover informant for the DEA."

Piper twitches. "I assumed you were undercover, but…the DEA?"

"Remember when I visited you at Litchfield after the trial in Chicago? I told you I had to skip town."

She averts her eyes. That was a gut-wrenching moment for both of us.

"What I couldn't tell you then was that I'd made a deal to work for the feds in exchange for my safety— _our_ safety."

"Was I in danger?" She creases her forehead.

"Kubra and his people wanted vengeance on me, and he knew the best way to get to me was to do something horrible to you," I begin. "I couldn't let that happen."

"I was in _prison_. What could've happened to me there?"

"Kubra could've easily hired someone on the inside." I chuckle at her innocence. "I needed to make sure that didn't happen."

"So you went to the feds with this idea to help them?"

"Not exactly." I sip my beer and sit back. " _They_ approached me, but they didn't give me any details—just that if I agreed to work for them, they'd protect both of us."

Piper remains silent; she still looks worried.

"I had to relocate to DC and enter a training program for ex-cons who struck a deal with the government to work with them. They erased any information about my existence after prison."

"I know at least part of that."

"What do you mean?"

"I've tried to search for you on the Internet, but there's literally nothing about you anywhere. It was like you didn't exist after prison."

I can't help the smile spreading on my face. "You searched for me?"

"I didn't want to talk to you or anything," she replies defensively, as if she divulged too much about caring about my existence and needs to reel it back in. "I just wanted to know if you were alive."

I tilt my head. "How thoughtful of you."

"I have every right to be angry." Piper folds her arms. "First, you fucked me over in Chicago, and then you told me you were skipping town!"

"To protect you." I reach for her, but she doesn't budge.

"It's going to take more than a conversation in a seedy bar for me to wrap my head around that." I recognize her don't _fuck with me_ tone.

I take a long swig of beer, deciding it would be best to proceed with factual information rather than getting caught up in emotions.

"After nearly a year of intense training, I was told I'd be doing undercover work for the DEA," I state. "That's where we are now."

"You couldn't let me know?" She sounds upset—like I've kept a secret from her that she should've been privy to.

"There are rules about who I can and can't talk to about my job."

"Rules?"

"I don't make them up." I return to my beer, rolling it between my hands. "They exist to protect me and whoever I'm…"

She bends forward. "You're what?"

I hesitate before responding, "Whoever I'm in a relationship with."

Piper's eyebrows remain arched. "You're in a relationship?"

"Not currently." I try to conceal the smirk that's longing to surface. "No."

"Oh." She relaxes and sits back. "Then who knows about your undercover work?"

My mouth twitches, and I decide to be honest. "I haven't been close enough with anyone who deserves to know."

"What if I wouldn't have stumbled into the situation tonight?"

"You wouldn't know either," I admit.

We sit in silence for a moment, nursing our beers. I can tell Piper is deep in thought, so it gives me a minute to stare at her. She looks younger than she did in prison. Maybe it's the clothing, but it seems like more than that. Her eyes seem brighter, her hair blonder. She looks healthy. It's astonishing what prison can take away from a person. For that moment, I allow myself to appreciate her natural beauty.

She breaks the silence. "It's hard for me to look at you like that."

"Like what?"

"The wig, the blue eyes…You're like Sidney Bristow from _Alias_."

I'd almost forgotten about my disguise. "It's not like I can go into a phone booth and change like Superman."

"I don't think phone booths exist anymore." She gives me a tentative smile. "How often do you have to go undercover?"

"It depends on the case." I shrug. "Sometimes a week; other times a few months."

"Is it scary?"

"Sometimes." I finish my beer. "Tonight was scary."

"Why?"

I make eye contact with Piper, hoping she understands the seriousness of the matter. "Because you were almost caught in the middle."

"Sorry, I didn't know," she admits in a shy tone. "And I was a little tipsy."

This time, I reach for her hand and she doesn't pull away. "That was a close call, Piper."

She nods and stares at our hands before pulling back. "Why do they want to meet with me tomorrow?"

"There's certain protocol people have to go through when an undercover agent divulges his or her role," I explain. "They'll do a background check, although like I mentioned, I'm sure that's already been done; interview you, scare the living shit out of you with what could happen if you tell anyone about my line of work. It's not going to be a walk in the park."

"I won't tell anyone."

"Save it for the feds." I stand and glance at my bloody leg. The blood has since dried and almost looks fake. "Forgot about this."

"You cut yourself." Piper bends over and touches my leg, sending shivers down my spine. I miss her touch, even one as innocent as this.

"Climbing up those rickety stairs at the back of the club."

She stands, and I immediately miss her touch. "Will you be at the field office tomorrow?"

"Yes." I walk to the bar, scribble the address of the field office on a napkin, and then hand it to her. "In fact, I need to head there now."

"It's almost one in the morning."

"You're not the only one who has questions to answer," I sigh.

"Will you get in trouble?"

I remember Piper asking a similar question many years ago when I first asked her to travel with me, and my response: _God, I hope so._ How times have changed—now the last thing I want is for either of us to get in trouble.

I exhale a short puff of air. "Probably."

She grabs my hand, squeezes it, and then drops it. "I really am sorry."

I give her my best smile, but I know it's not much. "Maybe someday I'll say it was worth it because I got to see you again."

She blushes and looks at the ground.

"You ok getting home?"

She nods. "I'll take an Uber. Want me to get one for you?"

"That would be nice, actually." I follow her outside. "I'll pay you back at the office tomorrow."

"That's not necessary." She hands me the phone to type in my info.

I take that moment to scroll through her Contact List to see if I'm still there. I grin, handing her phone back.

She looks at the screen that I purposely didn't close. "Is snooping part of your job?"

"I prefer to call it investigating." My smile widens. "Just curious to see if I was still listed."

She shoves the phone back into her pocket. "It's probably not even your number anymore."

"It's not." I lift my eyebrows. "I'd give you my new number, but it changes constantly."

She juts her chin forward. "I didn't ask for it."

I take a step closer. "But you want it."

A silver Prius pulls up and the driver rolls down the window. "Are you Piper Chapman?"

I lean close to her. "Change your Uber profile. Never give them your real name."

She opens the back door, climbing inside the vehicle and then grins at me. "Packing heat? Really?"

"Yes." I lift the back of my blouse slightly, revealing my Glock. "Really."

There's something mysterious in her eyes—either she's turned on or completely disgusted. Perhaps she's just intrigued; after all, I'm in the total opposite position now than I was when we first met when she was initially intrigued.

"See you tomorrow."


	4. Chapter 4

It isn't until 4 a.m. when I get to my apartment to take a three-hour nap, then shower and head right back in to the field office. I got my ass handed to me last night, and Kevin wasn't even the one doing the chewing out. I'll face him today, and I'm confident I'll get an earful. I deserve it. I abandoned my post to deal with Piper. However, if I wouldn't have gone downstairs in the club that second time, Piper could've bolted upstairs and ruined everything or gotten injured. Agent Thompson agreed with my rationale, but he still wrote me up. It's my first disciplinary write-up, so this one is just a warning. If it happens again, I'll be suspended.

I take the Subway back Uptown, and there's no denying I'm exhausted, but I smile at the thought of seeing Piper this morning. Last night was rough but being alone with her even as we talked about stuff above the belt was cathartic. To look into her eyes, feel her touch…it wasn't nearly enough, but it might be a start.

The officer at the front door greets me with a grin like he knows I'm in trouble. "Boz is waiting for you."

I swipe my badge across the sensor, rolling my eyes. "Thanks for the update."

"Somebody else is waiting, too. Tall, fine-looking blonde."

I breeze past him and head into the reception area that looks like a holding tank straight out of the 1970s. The brightest thing in the room is Piper.

She stands, gives me a once-over and gulps. "You're back to normal Alex."

I'd almost forgotten how I was dressed last night. "I don't parade around town in disguise." I smirk, doing my best to hide my own roaming eyes. "Besides, the case is over."

Piper looks good— _really_ good. Her hair is wavy, lips are colored with light pink lipstick and she has on a green dress with white lace around the sleeves and bottom. She looks innocent and almost child-like. I wonder if she chose that dress for exactly that reason as she's about to face questioning from federal agents.

"I'm new to the whole undercover thing; I don't know the rules."

An image flashes in my mind of a conversation we had many years ago about Piper not knowing the rules. As I recall, we ended up fucking in the bathroom of a bar instead of going to the burlesque show. Judging from the look on her face, Piper's mind took that same trip down memory lane.

"It's about time, Vause." Kevin rarely calls me by my last name. He stands in the doorway, hands on his hips.

"I should go."

Piper nods.

"Good luck," I toss out.

"Thank you." She adjusts her purse on her shoulder. "Will I see you again?"

"I hope so." I turn on my heel and follow Kevin to our shared office.

* * *

For the next 30 minutes, I get an earful from Kevin. I understand why he's pissed, and I apologize, trying to explain my actions. Eventually, he calms down and listens to my side of the story.

When I can sense he's done with his rant, I offer, "Thompson wrote me up."

"Good." Despite his calmness, he shows no signs of letting this thing slide. "I hope something like this never happens again."

"It won't."

He sits in his desk chair, and now we're at eye level. "Was that her out there?"

"Yeah." I nod. "Thompson almost arrested her last night for impeding the investigation."

"Not surprising. Now she has to go through protocol?"

"Yeah." I bite the inside of my lip, debating if I should defend Piper or not. "She had no idea we were in the middle of an assignment."

Kevin lifts his brows, like he wants to offer a rebuttal, but he stays silent.

"She recognized me, and I freaked her out with the platinum wig and blue contacts." I shrug. "She just wanted to know what happened to me."

"Now she knows."

"Yeah."

He clicks a pen and writes something on a Post-It note. "Where does that leave the two of you?"

I let my head fall back and stare at the tiled ceiling. "I have no idea."

"If she wants to talk with someone…" Kevin hands me the slip of paper. "Here's my wife's number. She's been through it all."

I'm shocked by his offer. He and I are close, but I had no idea he'd extend this olive branch so soon after ripping me a new one. "Thank you."

"We need to talk about Rossellini before meeting with Thompson."

We spend the next hour talking and filling out paperwork, but my mind keeps racing back to Piper. Is she still here? Did they make her cry? Did she have to sign anything?

I glance at my watch several times during our meeting, and finally, I excuse myself. "I'll be right back."

Kevin doesn't look up and continues typing.

The field office is relatively small—only one level with about 20 offices, a reception area and three conference rooms. I travel down the hallway, looking through open doors and windows to see if I can find Piper with no luck. I make my way back to the reception area, but it's empty.

"Looking for someone?" the receptionist asks.

I lean over the desk. "Piper Chapman. She should've signed in."

She glances at her computer screen. "Looks like she's with Ramos."

I walk down the opposite hallway towards Agent Ramos' office. He and I don't have many reasons to interact, but I know him to be a fair-minded man.

I pace outside his office, trying to get a look inside, but the window flanking the door is frosted, so I can only see blurry images. I glance at my watch, noticing it's going on 10 a.m., which means Piper has been here for two hours. I don't know how long these things usually take, but that seems like a long time. I wanted to check in with her before she left, but I have a meeting with Thompson in 10 minutes, and if I'm even five seconds late, my ass will be handed to me for a second time in 24 hours.

As I turn to walk away, the door creaks open.

"Alex?" She looks surprised to see me.

I shove my hands in my pockets. "Hey."

"Vause, will you escort Ms. Chapman back up front?"

"Yes, sir." I lead her down the hallway. "How'd it go?"

"You weren't kidding." She runs a hand through her hair. "This is serious."

"I wouldn't fuck around with something like that," I whisper. "Are you ok?"

"It's a lot to process."

"Do you want to tell me about it…maybe over dinner?"

She stops short. "Alex…"

I don't say a word. I let her look at my face and come to a decision on her own.

Piper lowers her gaze. "I can't."

My heart sinks.

"I need some time to sort all this out on my own." Her face cracks a bit, and I wonder if she'll change her mind. "I'm sorry."

I don't blame her, but it still sucks. One thing we've had trouble with in our on-again, off-again relationship is trusting each other. It seems like every time we reach a pinnacle of trusting each other, something happens to make it unravel. I know Piper is still wary about my taking a deal with the feds in order to protect both of us, and I need to prove that I did it for all the right reasons. As much as I'd like that to happen sooner rather than later, she's not ready to move past it, and I can't force it down her throat.

"Me, too." I run my hand down the back of her arm. "It was good seeing you."

Piper opens her mouth to say something, but nothing comes out.

The rest of the day is just bad. I think about Piper far more than what would be considered healthy and the meeting with Thompson was almost as terrible as my meeting with him in the wee hours of the morning. I go home late that night, hoping to sleep it off.

* * *

I was foolish to think I'd get another undercover assignment after what happened with the Rossellini case; instead, the next month I'm relegated to office work. With each day that passes, Kevin becomes more resentful as we watch two other teams get assigned to field work while we're stuck typing and filing reports for other agents who are too busy. I'm in the doghouse, and I've dragged my partner there, too. I've tried buying him lunch, taking him out for a beer and cleaning the office from top to bottom, but nothing makes up for my actions.

The other thing that sucks is having to move again. I've never lived in the same apartment for more than three months, and this time is no different. I still don't fully understand why I need to relocate so often, but when the feds use words like, _for your own safety_ , I have to trust them. Besides, they pay the rent, so I suppose there's very little for me to complain about other than having to acquaint myself with a new neighborhood each time.

Coincidentally, my new apartment is two blocks from the bar where Piper and I talked a month ago. Though I wouldn't consider it the safest neighborhood, it's the biggest unit I've lived in so far with the nicest furniture, and it's not far from Morningside Heights.

I haven't been able to stop thinking about Piper, and instead of my feelings fluttering away as time marches on, they've only gotten more pronounced. I know she's still upset with me for what went down in Chicago and for leaving her without telling her why when she was at Litchfield, but she has to understand why I did what I did.

It was easy to find her mobile number in our database, and I stored it in my phone, but the furthest I've gotten to contacting her is just staring at her name. There are times when I'll stare at it until the screen goes black, and then I wake it up and stare longer, repeating that twisted ritual over and over until something interrupts me. I've wanted to reach out to her countless times, but each time, I chicken out. I walk around with the piece of paper Kevin gave me with his wife's number on it, thinking I'll just call Piper and tell her Mia would be a good person to talk to about what it's like to know someone who does undercover work. I vow that I'll do it in another two weeks if fate doesn't bring us together some other way.

* * *

It's nice when I don't have to work on weekends, though I don't have any regular friends with whom to hang out. There are a few people at the field office who I occasionally get together with to play cards or have a beer, but Kevin is my closest friend. The unfortunate part is that I have to keep it that way. If I end up falling in love, that's one thing, but the likelihood of that happening is rare since I don't put myself out there; plus, I'm already in love.

On this warm summer day, I decide to hit the Morningside Heights farmer's market. While I don't cook often, it's hard to resist the fresh produce this time of year. I stroll through the stalls, buying a head of butter lettuce here and heirloom tomatoes there. Since getting out of prison, I try to take advantage of fresh food whenever I can—I never want to go back to the putrid food we were served at Litchfield. Everything around me is ripe and vibrant, and it makes me smile more than I've smiled in a long time.

As I turn the corner, a pair of familiar blue eyes catch my own.

"Piper?"

She furrows her brow. "Alex? What are you doing here?"

I walk closer, shoving my glasses to the top of my head as if that'll make me see her better. "I live a few blocks away."

"I thought you said you lived _miles_ away?"

"I did." I'd forgotten I told her that when we went to the bar. "I move every three months or so for work."

"Oh." She looks good, not that I'd ever expect her to look bad. She has on white shorts and a light blue, fitted V-neck t-shirt. Her hair is pulled back in a messy ponytail, and once again I'm struck by how young she looks.

"How've you been?" I ask.

"Fine." She leaves it at that, and I know this conversation will be short-lived.

I peek into her wicker basket. "Looks like you've got some nice produce."

"Which one would typically find at a farmer's market." Snark. I get it.

"Do you live around here?"

Piper nods. "I told you that when we were in Harlem."

"Right." I tug my glasses over my eyes, suddenly feeling like I want something as stupid as eyeglasses between us. "I don't suppose you'd want to take a walk or get some ice cream or something?"

"Alex," she sighs, looking away briefly before returning her gaze to me. "Even if I wanted to get involved with you again—which I don't," Piper begins with what feels like fake conviction. "The life you lead is scary and dangerous. I've already been through one round of that with you, and I don't want to go down that path again."

"That was _completely_ different," I complain. "Back then I was the one selling drugs, this time I'm on the other side!"

She looks at her feet, and I know she's processing this information. I can only hope she understands that. She looks back up at me with sad eyes. "I'm not ready for you to be back in my life."

"Fine," I huff, frustrated that she won't budge. "Doesn't mean I'm giving up."

Her face twitches, and for a second, I recognize the beginning of a smile. It's gone before I can even capture it.

"Take care, Pipes." With that, I walk away.

* * *

The following Sunday, I make my way down to the farmer's market around the same time in hopes of running into Piper again. I buy cucumbers, green beans, squash and a bunch of daffodils. I waste time, sitting on a bench, chewing on a soft pretzel when I hear my name.

"Holy shit, Vause! Is that you?"

I turn to see a familiar face approaching me. "Nichols?"

She walks up to me, arms open wide for a hug. "What the fuck?"

I stand to hug her, smile dangling off my lips. "Did you break out of prison or did mommy dearest make bail?"

"I did my fair share of time." She releases me. "But you know, a little money also goes a long way." Nicky sits on the bench. "What have you been doing with yourself?"

"This and that." I shrug, joining her on the bench. "Not much, really."

"But you're staying out of trouble?"

I nod, fearful of giving away too much. "What about you?"

She raises her hands. "Living the life of a trust fund kid. I've been sober for nine months, so that's something."

"That's great to hear."

"I've asked Chapman if she's heard from you, but the few times I've brought up your name, she's given me _the look_ —you know the one."

Why am I not surprised? "I do."

"She usually come to the market on Sundays, but she's under the weather today," Nicky offers.

"You talk to her regularly?"

"We live together," she replies as if I should know that information.

"You? Piper?" My eyebrows shoot up. "You live together?" Why wouldn't Piper have told me she was living with Nicky? It makes no sense. A feeling of relief washes over me.

"Yeah. She got out a month before me and was living with her folks in Connecticut, but when I got bounced, I asked her to come live with me in the city rent free. Hardly something she could refuse."

I have to ask. "But you're not…"

"Me and Chapman? Hardly!" She gets a good laugh out of that and puts a hand on my shoulder. "She will always and forever be hung up on you, Vause."

That warrants a genuine smile. "That makes two of us."

"You still burning in the groin for her, huh?" She nudges me. "I have that familiar burn sometimes, too. But she's off the market. Besides, I wouldn't do that to ya."

"Good to know," I chuckle. "Give her these. Tell her they're from me, and I hope she feels better soon." I hand her the bouquet of flowers.

Nicky stands. "You want to come over and give them to her yourself?"

I toss the idea around in my head, but I shouldn't. I need to proceed with caution. "Not today."

"Alright, well give me your number. We should get together soon." She pulls out her phone. "In fact, I'm hosting a barbeque at our place next Saturday. You should come."

"I might be able to fit that in." I stand, taking her phone and entering my current cell phone number. Nicky doesn't need to know that my number changes every time I move.

"I'll text you the details." She hugs me again. "Good seeing you out and about, Vause. And it goes without saying—you look great. If you ever want to repeat that one-time love affair back at Litchfield…" She wags her eyebrows.

"Tempting," I tease. "See you soon, Nichols."

I walk back to my apartment, smiling from ear to ear.

* * *

Author's Note: Thanks for the reviews so far! Stay tuned for chapter 5 at some point next week.


	5. Chapter 5

Finally, six weeks after the Rossellini incident, Kevin and I are assigned a case. He's bouncing off the walls with excitement, and I'm grateful to be on the opposite side of his grumpiness. The case is familiar—high-end drug dealers and mules pushing cocaine and heroin to young, wealthy socialites. There are two women in charge of their Manhattan circle, and one of them even looks like me, except for her long red hair instead of black.

"You going to be ok with this?" Kevin is well aware of my drug dealing days. He's seen pictures and read descriptions about my work, and I've shared several stories about my illegal glory days.

"Yeah. Thanks though."

For this assignment, I get to wear Versace, Chanel and the like. I have a short, black bob and wide-rimmed glasses. If I had to describe the look, I'd call it French intellectual. I learned a little French when I was working for Kubra, so that will likely come in handy as my character was supposedly born in France but educated in the US.

Kevin and I spend the week researching our assignment and go on one mission to gather information undercover. I fit in with the drug dealing women seamlessly, and this feels like it'll be an easy case to break.

* * *

I'm glad not to have to work that Saturday so I can go to Nicky's barbeque. I half expected to have heard from Piper, asking me not to go, but she hasn't contacted me. I'm confident Nicky told her we ran into each other, and she must know we would've exchanged numbers. I buy a new pair of linen pants and a breezy red top with spaghetti straps for the occasion and pray to a God I don't believe in that Piper is actually at the party.

Though Nicky told me to be at her place around three, I show up closer to 3:30 with a growler of root beer and a bottle of rosé. The door is wide open when I arrive, so I walk in to a room filled with 10-15 people. The music is loud, but no one seems to be bothered as they effortlessly carry on their conversations. I don't recognize anyone, so I head towards the French doors that open to a deck. The smell of barbecued pork wafts through the air on the back of laughter. I recognize Piper's laugh even through the cacophony around me, and it brings a smile to my face.

"I'll take those." A petite woman reaches for the bottles I'm carrying. "I'm Tammy, the neighbor."

"I'm Alex, the friend."

"Are you friends with Nicky or Piper?" She puts the bottles in the refrigerator, and then holds up a can of soda and a can of beer.

I take the beer. "Both."

"They're on the patio if you'd like to say hello." She smiles and walks back into the living room.

I take a moment to look around. There are traces of Piper everywhere, and for a moment I'm jealous that she shares this place with Nicky. _This should be ours_. I recognize a piece of art hanging in the living room as something Piper bought in Lombok. There's also a vase on the mantle that I remember Piper buying in Berlin…or was it Munich? There are no photos of me, not that I expected any; in fact, the only picture in the room is of a smiling infant, and I'm sad that I don't know if it's Nicky or Piper's niece.

"Vause, you made it!" Nicky hugs me. "Sorry if I smell like roasted pig."

"It smells delicious." I take in a big whiff. "I brought you a growler of root beer from that place on Amsterdam. Kikis or Tikis..."

"Beekies," she corrects. "I love that place! How'd you know?"

"You used to talk about a root beer store on the Upper West Side when we were at Litchfield." I shrug. "I did a little research and figured this was the one."

"Thanks, Vause. It's good having you back." She pats me on the back. "Have you spotted Chapman yet?"

I purse my lips as my cheeks heat up.

Nicky shakes her head and chuckles. "No need to answer that."

I shimmy through the crowd to the patio where another ten people are gathered. Piper's back is to me, but I'd recognize even her backside from a mile away. She's wearing a short, white dress that catches a breeze every now and then. Her hair drapes down her back, and I notice it's longer than I thought it was. She lets her head roll back with laughter and I get a glimpse of her neck. I've always loved her neck.

"It's my understanding you're the hostess," I say as I approach her.

She whips her head around, expression changing to one of uncertainty. "Hi."

"Hey."

She takes a sip of lemonade. "Nicky told me you might show up."

"I was invited, so…" I explain, feeling somewhat defensive.

"She told me that, too."

I toy with the tab on my can of beer. "Feeling better?"

"Yeah, it was just a summer cold." She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. "Thank you for the daffodils."

"You're welcome."

We stand in silence for a moment, and I'm sure her mind is racing as fast as mine. I watch her eyes roam down my body—she's trying to be coy, but it doesn't work.

"I've been meaning to give you the number of someone you might want to reach out to," I say, pulling out the now crumbled Post-It note that I've carried around forever. "It's my partner, Kevin's wife. She's been through this whole undercover thing, and he thought it might be good for you two to talk if you have questions."

She stares at the paper. "Why?"

"I would imagine you'd have questions about what to do if you saw me undercover again or in situations like this when I might have to use a fake name or lie about what I do for a living."

She lifts her brows. "You use a fake name?"

"When I'm undercover I do, but Nichols knows me, so it wouldn't exactly work in situations like this." I glance across the patio, trying to act casual, but I know my next question will come out accusatory. "Why didn't you tell me you were roommates?"

Piper rubs the back of her neck. "I knew it would be complicated."

"If I would've told you the night we ran into each other that I lived with Nicky, you would've been worried I'd tell her what went down at the club," she begins. "I didn't want you to think I'd give your secret life away to her, blowing your cover."

"That's not exactly how it works, but thanks," I let out a short laugh.

Piper creases her forehead. "So, you would've totally accepted that I lived with Nicky and never warned me about saying too much to her?"

"That would've been better than thinking you were shacking up with your lover!" I blurt out, wishing I could take it back. "I didn't mean…"

She tries hiding a grin, but it's no use. "You were jealous."

I can't hide it, so I just fess up. " _Of course_ I was jealous, Piper. How do you think it's felt over the last six weeks to wonder if you're in love with someone else?"

"I'm not," she states plainly, folding her arms. "I mean, I'm not in love with anyone else."

I feel my eyebrow cock up. "Anyone _else_?"

A blush spreads across her cheeks. "Or _you_ for that matter."

I smirk.

"Anyway, I should…um, make sure we have enough beer and stuff in the refrigerator." She brushes past me, and I grin from ear to ear. I have a chance to make this right.

As the day goes on, I meet several of Piper and Nicky's friends. I don't divulge my last name (something I learned in training) nor do I talk about my life. If anyone asks, I tell them I temp for companies all over Manhattan—boring enough for them to never enquire further. Piper and I are always within eyesight of each other, and I often catch her looking my way. She seems mostly at ease, though there are moments when I can tell she's tense, and I wonder if it's because of my presence. I'm thankful Nicky is around to lighten the mood. I'd forgotten how easy going she is and how quickly she can alleviate an uncomfortable situation.

By seven o'clock, I've had four beers and have switched to the spiked lemonade that Piper has been sipping all day. It's the first time since before I went to prison that I feel tipsy. Well, there was that one time at Litchfield when I got drunk off Poussey's hooch. Other than that, the most I've drank this past year has been two glasses of wine or beer in one sitting.

Piper bumps into me, and I can see she's drunk. "Your glass is almost empty."

"I should probably quit while I'm ahead," I reply.

"Ahead of what?"

I smirk, enjoying how cute she is when she's tipsy. "You ok?"

She tilts her head. "There's a rooftop deck. Wanna watch the sunset?"

"Yes," I state definitively. I will not pass up an opportunity to be alone with her.

"Will you pour us another drink?"

The one I make for myself has half a shot of vodka. Piper doesn't need to know that.

She's lurking near the kitchen, seeming not to care about the way she watches me. At the beginning of the party, she concealed her gaze, but now, it seems she has pretty much given up. It's like she's inspecting me. Her eyes aren't lustful; they're curious—like she wants to know more but is afraid to ask (or doesn't know the right questions.)

"Lead the way." I hand her a glass of lemonade and follow her up two flights of stairs.

Before we make it to the top, I put my hand on her hip and she doesn't shoo it away. I let it linger there a few seconds before retreating.

She spins around, looking at me rather than the sunset. "Here we are."

"This is amazing."

It's a 360-degree view of Manhattan where I'm sure we could see the sunrise as well as the sunset.

"Nicky's mom pays for this?"

Piper nods. "She owns like six buildings in the city. We pay the bills, but she covers the rent."

I nudge my glasses. "Must be nice."

She ventures to the edge of the deck, setting her glass on the ledge. "Is your rent outrageous?"

"I don't pay rent either—the DEA covers the cost since I have to move so fucking often."

The music and laughter from downstairs carries in the air, and I feel extraordinarily _free_ —like I can tell Piper anything about my job and my living situation. I've kept my life bottled up for so long that I feel like a genie out of its bottle. It's the total opposite of how it felt when I was locked up.

"That's a good deal."

I laugh. "It's nothing like this—mostly studio apartments with dorm-style furniture."

She turns to me. "It's free."

"True," I reply. "But it never feels like home."

Piper reaches for my hand unexpectedly. We link fingers and I rub my thumb across her knuckles. Neither of us says a thing—we just stare at our joined hands.

"It feels good to touch you," I whisper.

She lets go as if she was under a spell that has now been broken and doesn't say anything for a moment.

I remain still, allowing her time to get her thoughts in order.

Finally, Piper looks up at me, shaking her head. "I'm having a hard time with this—with trusting you, believing the reasons you left."

"I get that." I want to hold her hand again, but I grab my glass instead. "I'm not hiding anything. I could lose my job, or worse, risk my life by being this open with you."

She remains quiet.

"That's why I want you to talk to Kevin's wife. Ask her how it felt to be with someone in the same situation."

"I'm not _with_ you."

"Do you want to be?" I didn't mean to voice that question, but it explodes out of my mouth before I can take it back.

"What I _want_ is to be with the Alex Vause who has nothing to do with drugs, whether that's on this side of the law or the other," she admits in a frustrated tone.

"That Alex doesn't exist." I shake my head in a little burst. "I know what I do is dangerous, and it might freak you out, but I'm finally doing something good with my life. I won't fuck that up."

She takes a couple of deep breaths.

I can't let this opportunity pass, so I lift her chin with two fingers. "I've never stopped caring about you, Piper. I need you to know that. Everything I've done that's good in the world is for you— _because_ of you."

As the sun sets, she leans her forehead against mine, and we both close our eyes. A feeling of euphoria rushes through my body, and I don't want this moment to end. Finally, Piper pulls back, letting me go as she faces the Western sky.

Even though I want to take things further, I don't push it. "Please reach out to Mia."

Piper doesn't acknowledge my request; instead, she watches the sun set behind a row of buildings. I stand next to her, shoulders barely touching.

"Sunsets never get old, do they?" she whispers.

I shake my head. "No."

She lets out a long breath, then takes a step away from the ledge. "I should probably go back down."

"And I need to take off." I follow her back downstairs. "I finally got assigned to another case."

"Congratulations." She stops short. "Is that what I should say?"

I smile. "It'll do."

We reach the second floor and stop in front of the open door.

"I hope we can see each other again soon."

"Maybe." Piper reaches to hug me, and if I just turn a little to the right, my lips would touch hers. I don't—I just hold her in my arms for as long as she'll let me.


	6. Chapter 6

It takes only three weeks to complete our first case after being on desk duty for what felt like forever. However, Kevin and I could be in it for the long haul on our next assignment, which involves a four-star Italian restaurant, its owner and lead bartender. While the police nor the DEA have been able to confirm their suspicions, it's assumed that these men have been buying and selling large quantities of narcotics for the past nine months.

I learned that one of the reasons for my move to Lower Harlem earlier this month was because of its proximity to the Upper West Side restaurant, Trentina, where the drug lords are presumably based. My job is to visit the restaurant often enough to be considered a regular, thereby winning the restaurant owner and bartender's trust. I'll wear a microphone during these visits, which will transmit my conversations to Kevin, who will be in a vehicle nearby.

My undercover look for this operation is red hair in a cobra-braid side ponytail, round tortoise shell eyeglasses and sophisticated yet sexy business attire. I've been given six tailored business suits with collared blouses that fit snugly against my chest and four dresses that would be appropriate for Wall Street but sexy enough to make men (and some women) look twice. My job is to play the role of high-end Real Estate Agent who recently moved from L.A. for a more lucrative job in Manhattan.

The first two weeks, I visit the restaurant every other day at the same time and sit on the same bar stool. I order either an appetizer or a salad and one glass of wine and read a book while I wait for the food to come out. By day four, the bartender knows my name, _Juliet Hanson_ , and enough about my fake backstory to intrigue him. The next day, I meet the owner, who seems equally intrigued by my looks and my job. I never stay at the restaurant longer than 30 minutes, making it appear even more like I'm just another average customer on her way to becoming a regular. Eventually, I tell Anthony, the bartender, that my boyfriend is an airline pilot, and I'm not in the business of cheating on him. (I've mastered the whole _look but don't touch_ routine.)

During these two weeks, I text Piper a few times, mostly just to stay in touch. She takes her sweet time writing back, often waiting 24 hours before responding to even the simplest texts like, "How was your day?" I don't want to move too fast for her comfort, though it takes all my strength not to ask her to go out with me.

The third week of the undercover assignment, I ask Piper to meet for coffee on a Sunday morning—an innocent enough "date" that, I hope, feels safe with no strings attached. She replies back in record time: _I'd like that_. I wonder if she's been waiting for me to ask her out this whole time, and I've been anxious for no reason.

By Sunday I've gotten Anthony to confess that he has a lucrative side business. I don't push the issue during that visit, but the more I learn about him and Adamo, the restaurant owner, the more convinced I am that we're on to something big. There have been hushed conversations I've witnessed only briefly before they take the conversation into the kitchen.

The following Sunday, Piper meets me at a quaint coffee shop along Riverside Park, and I can't take my eyes off her. She's wearing a short zigzag pattern dress with tassels that hang a couple inches above her knees and a floppy white hat that she removes as she makes her way over to me.

I smile as her purse strap snags the top of a chair, and she's pulled back by the force.

"Hi." She returns my smile, though it's tentative—like she's hesitant about showing her excitement upon seeing me.

"Looks like you're going to the beach."

"I am, actually." She sits across from me. "We're leaving in about an hour."

I don't question who _we_ is, nor do I comment about how she slipped in our finite amount of time together. "My credit card is open—get whatever you want."

"Your treat?" She stands again.

"It's the least I can do after you bought me a beer and got me an Uber after the whole Rossellini thing."

Piper breezes over to the counter, and I watch her every move. She still takes long strides and swings her shoulders left to right. Her calf muscles are strong, flexing with every step. I recall one night in bed many years ago when I spent an hour just kissing and rubbing her legs.

"Want anything?" she calls from the counter.

I lift my cup. "I'm good."

She returns with an iced coffee and an almond croissant, and I grin at her choice of pastries. When we were in France, I ate an almond croissant every morning and always gave Piper the last bite. The significance of the pastry can't be lost on her.

She returns to our table. "So, how's the case going?"

"It's going well. We're still not close to breaking it, but sometimes the long, drawn out cases are the best." I sip my iced tea, hoping to change the topic of conversation to _her_. "We haven't talked about your life at all, other than your living arrangements."

She tears off a piece of croissant and pushes the plate to the middle of the table. "What do you want to know?"

I lift my shoulders. "What do you do for a living?"

"I'm a freelance writer."

"Like Larry?"

"Hardly." Piper rolls her eyes. "I found work within two weeks after being released from prison and have a couple of long-term contracts."

I rip off a piece of croissant. "Like what?"

"I'm doing a monthly newsletter for Brookfield Place and re-writing the employee handbook for J. Crew."

I grin. "Do you get free clothes?"

She takes a swig of iced coffee. "No, but they're giving me a 20% discount through the end of summer."

I wipe the crumbs off my mouth. "Maybe I can get in on that."

She shrugs, her expression neutral. "Maybe."

I still sense a great deal of hesitancy from Piper—like she wants to talk to me, provide answers to my questions, but she doesn't want to divulge too much. It's like she's dipping her toe in the pool and deciding if it's warm enough to take the plunge.

"How are you and Nicky getting along?"

"Good. I told her as long as she stays sober, I'm happy to live with her."

"Clearly, she doesn't _need_ a roommate. Does she just enjoy your company?"

She grins. "Who wouldn't?"

I raise an eyebrow. "True."

We continue talking about surface level stuff over the next hour, and the conversation never lags. She tells me about her last few months at Litchfield, how she adjusted to life on the outside so quickly, and how she's trying to find a place in her heart to forgive Polly for shacking up with her ex-fiancé. I don't offer much about my own life—she knows what she needs to know right now, and I don't want to scare her with detailing the dangers of my job. Knowing Piper, though, she has probably already researched the hell out of what it means to be an undercover agent.

After about 45 minutes and two more drinks, she glances at her phone. "I should probably head out."

"It still feels strange," I begin. "Sitting here, talking to you without bunk beds or bars between us."

She gives me a tender smile. "It is."

"I hope we can do it again." I push my chair back and stand.

"Yeah."

I take the empty plate and my cup to the counter, then return for hers. We walk to the door and stand in front of the coffee shop, both looking out to the park.

"I guess this is goodbye for now." I reach out to hug her, and she doesn't pull away. Holding Piper has always felt good. She feels safe and warm and smells like sugar. I want to hold her like this forever, but she releases me after only a few seconds.

"Enjoy your Sunday," she says.

"You, too."

I walk in the opposite direction, wondering if I should turn around, run to her and tell her that I've never stopped loving her. I laugh at myself for such an outlandish thought—we're not there yet.

* * *

Another week passes, and Piper and I text a couple times a day. Still, the messages are short and unassuming, never with any emotional context or flirting until later in the week when I'm undercover at Trentina.

I text her: _Had to do a double take when I saw a woman today that looked just like you from afar. She had on tight, leather pants_.

Piper responds: _Leather pants in the summer? That's just stupid._

 _She looked hot._

 _I guess she did as she was probably sweating bullets in all that leather._

Do I detect a hint of jealousy? I smile at the thought, but I'm quickly reminded where I am when the bartender greets me. "Juliet, how's it going?"

"Good. You weren't here yesterday." I shove my phone into my purse, disappointed that my flirtations with Piper are over at least for now.

"I had to take care of something with my other business."

I give him my best seductive smile, hoping my charm will force his hand. "You never told me what you do outside of the restaurant."

He wipes the counter. "I don't think it would be appealing to you."

I lift an eyebrow. "Try me."

"Let's just say, if you ever want a different kind of buzz..." he trails off.

"I'm intrigued," I say, keeping my flirtatious voice in place.

Just as Anthony is about to comment, the bell above the door chimes, and his head whips in that direction. There before my eyes stands Piper. _Fuck_. If she identifies me and has another freak out like she did at the club, this whole operation is in jeopardy.

Anthony grins. "To be continued…" Despite that he's not a greeter at Trentina, Anthony is always one of the first people to welcome attractive women into the restaurant. This time is no different, and I become tense at the way he's eyeing Piper. While I don't think he presents any danger to her, I don't want her involved in this case in any way.

A woman I don't recognize comes in seconds later, and the two of them hug. Piper and the other woman walk towards the bar, and I try to avert my eyes but it's nearly impossible. It looks like she stepped straight out of the J. Crew catalog with her bright green dress and aviator sunglasses resting on top of her head. Her lips are glossy and her hair looks like it didn't have time to dry fully before she left the house. Her cheeks are sun kissed, and I wonder if she forgot to reapply sunscreen when she went to the beach on Sunday. She has always taken my breath away with her simple beauty, and this time is no different.

Piper doesn't immediately recognize me, and I hope my costume is convincing enough to keep it that way. I turn around, pretending to examine the salad that was just placed in front of me.

"I didn't expect it to be this crowded." The woman she's with gestures to the stool next to me. "How about here?"

That forces Piper to sit on the third stool, so as she faces her friend, she's also facing me.

"They have a great happy hour," the woman says, picking up the menu. "I've had the Chianti and the Verdicchio."

Piper leans over, peeking at the menu. "Never heard of Verdicchio. I'm assuming it's white?"

"Yes. The bartender will probably let you sample it." She lifts her hand to get Anthony's attention.

I don't get the sense that this is a date—it appears to be either a casual business meeting or they're just friends. There's no nervousness between them; they seem comfortable but not overly so.

I continue watching them out of the corner of my eye, sipping my wine and hoping to get out of the restaurant before Piper has a chance to identify me. While I hate to abandon the lead Anthony gave me, I can't risk Piper blowing my cover… _again_.

"Juliet, so good to see you." The bar owner, Adamo, sweeps in from the kitchen. "I have a new wine for you to try."

Piper looks my way, and I watch her eyes shoot open and her face contort. She seems to try to conceal her shock, but she's never had a good poker face. I give her a cautionary look, clenching my jaw and tilting my head, hoping she's able to rein in her shock.

"Maybe next time," I reply to Adamo, focusing my attention on him rather than on Piper. "You know my rule—only one glass per visit."

"You're far more disciplined than I am." He shakes his head, then returns to the kitchen.

When I glance at Piper, she's still staring at me to the point where her friend comments and turns around to see where she's focused.

"Do you know her?"

"Uh…" Piper glances from me to the friend, clearly perplexed about how to proceed. "Um, no…I mean yes."

"Piper is that you?" I stand and hold out my hand, hoping I can fix this. "Juliet Hanson, your brother's realtor. We met at the house in Chelsea."

"Oh, right." She vigorously shakes my hand, using the other hand to brush her hair back in what I know to be a nervous gesture. "It's been a while."

"Only a few weeks," I reply. She could blow my cover if she fucks up the timeline I've established for my having moved to Manhattan.

"Oh, that's right. Time flies. I was just thinking the other day, I'd like to…"

"Who's your friend?" I interrupt, saving Piper from herself.

"This is Paula Sharpe—the director of marketing for Brookfield Place."

I shake her hand. "Nice to meet you."

"I'm working on next month's newsletter, and we decided to move our meeting to happy hour rather than staying in a stuffy office," Piper offers.

"Care to join us?" Paula asks.

"I don't want to interrupt." I make a shooing motion. "I'm just going to finish my wine, and then get on my way."

I watch Piper's eyes rake over me, and they've changed from anxious to hungry. I'm wearing one of my more provocative dresses, channeling my inner Claire Underwood.

"It was nice seeing you again, Piper." I touch her shoulder. "Please give my best to your brother."

Her eyes meet mine; they're still dark and wanting. " _Juliet_." She recites as if chewing on my fake name for a moment. "Nice seeing you, too."

* * *

After Kevin and I debrief in the car and have a phone conversation with our field supervisor to discuss next steps, I go home with a smile on my face. I hop into bed and plug in my phone, noticing I missed a text message from Piper about an hour ago.

 _Hope_ _I didn't wreck anything. Tried to play along, but that's not my strong suit_.

I reply: _No, it's not…You recovered nicely though_.

 _Good_ …

The three little dots on my phone keep flashing, and I wonder if she keeps writing and erasing what she types. Finally, this appears: _It was weird seeing you in costume…you looked good_.

 _Did I not look good before?_ I lob out there, giving her a chance to flirt a little more.

 _You did…you do. It just took me a while to recognize you._

 _That's the point of being undercover._

A few minutes go by until she writes again _. It's fascinating to see you look completely different._

I have to proceed carefully. If I take this too far, Piper might pull back. If I don't take it far enough, she might think I'm uninterested. So, I write: _It's a big part of my job._

Neither of us writes anything more until nearly 11 p.m. when I text her good night. I wish I could get into her head. Clearly, she's intrigued by me, but she has yet to be the one to initiate a meeting or a date—whatever we'd call it.

* * *

The next day is almost identical to the one before. I go for a jog in the morning, head to the field office at 9, and Kevin and I go to Trentina at 4:15. My goal is to get Anthony to divulge more, and I'm going with the tactic of dressing similarly to yesterday to see if my physical appeal will accomplish that. Instead of a dress, I wear red cigarette pants and a pale blue button-up shirt with one too many buttons undone. I have on black pumps that put me over six feet tall. _Presence_.

I grab my usual seat at the bar and see both Anthony and Adamo conversing at the other end. "Gentlemen."

"Juliet." Adamo abandons the conversation and grabs a bottle of white wine. "I'm glad you made it today. This is the wine I was telling you about. It's a pinot grigio from my cousin's vineyard in Tuscany."

We make small talk as I taste the wine and Anthony brings me a basket of garlic knots fresh out of the oven. After Adamo listens to me sing the praises of the wine, he walks into the kitchen and Anthony lingers behind.

"About that buzz you promised." I lean forward enough for him to get a good view of my cleavage. "How can I get my hands on something sooner rather than later?"

He looks both ways before responding, "I don't usually do small end sales, but for you…"

I slip a $100 bill across the bar. "I'd appreciate whatever you can do."

He takes the money, shoving it into his pocket. "I'll have something for you tomorrow."

"Monday—" I correct him. "I don't come in on weekends. You know that." If I appear too eager, it might ruin the good thing I have going here.

The bell above the door rings, and Anthony looks up with a grin. I follow his gaze to see Piper alone in the doorway.

I _want_ to smile, because the reason she came back has to be because she figured I'd be here, but she knows I'm working. I can't seem to get it through her head that what I do is serious and could have lethal consequences.

Then again, she's too fucking cute to send packing...for now.

"Anyone sitting here?"

I give her a disapproving look. "No."

" _Juliet_." She states rather than asks as she lifts the bar menu off the counter. "I like that name."

The better part of me wants to kiss the smirk right off her face. "You shouldn't be here."

"I know." Piper swivels her stool in my direction and tilts her head, looking as serious as I've ever seen her. "I tried to convince myself that for the last 24 hours, yet here I am."

I look down, trying to control the desire spreading throughout my body. I love that she sought me out.

"Hello." Anthony approaches. "Weren't you here last night?"

"I was." Piper smiles. "And the wine was so good I had to return."

"Glad you liked it. Was that the Verdicchio?"

"Yes." She sets the menu down.

I nod his way, signaling for him to put her drink on my tab.

Piper's body is angled so completely towards me that it must be obvious to Anthony she's not in the least bit interested in him. I can't let on that I'm interested in _her_ —Anthony thinks I have a serious boyfriend and has no clue I'm a bonafide lesbian.

"Thank you." She raises the glass to her mouth. "So, tell me about yourself, Juliet."

This mission is all but shot to hell. I know that, and I'm assuming by now Kevin knows that. I half expect him to barge into the restaurant and drag me out. The device I'm wearing isn't a two-way system—he can hear everything on my end, but I can't hear him. I have to salvage what I can even if it ruins this moment between me and Piper.

"I'm working, Piper." I clench my jaw. "This isn't some fantasy game."

She looks offended, but I can't offer solace.

"I'm sorry." And I mean it. If she's into role playing, I can totally get behind that, but not right now.

She takes a long sip of wine. "Ok."

We sit in silence, drinking our wine, and it's oddly erotic. There's this down tempo music playing in the background and the smell of roasted tomatoes wafting from the kitchen. It's enough to ignite my senses. I catch a glimpse of Piper out the corner of my eye, and she's staring at me. We continue this silent dance for 15 minutes before I have to leave. I got all I'll get from Anthony tonight, and I need to leave well enough alone.

I take the last swig of wine and signal to Anthony I'm ready for the check.

"So, Monday?" he asks.

"I'll be here." I stand and toss some money on the bar. "Piper good seeing you again."

"You, too."

I shake her hand, which always feels good in my own, and then walk out.

"What the fuck was that?" Kevin asks as I enter the car.

"I can't predict who will walk in the door." I know it's a lame answer, but I have to offer something.

"You need to get it straight with her, Alex. She could compromise our mission."

"I know." I close my eyes and rest my head against the back of the seat. "I thought I'd made that clear."

We abandon the conversation about Piper and discuss the assignment. Monday will be a big day, and we have to have a plan in place if drugs actually do get exchanged.

* * *

I'm surprised the weekend comes and goes without hearing from Piper. While I'd love to get some clarity as to what she's thinking when she showed up at the restaurant, my time and energy needs to focus on the Trentina case. As soon as it's over, I hope Piper and I can spend more time together and figure out where things are headed.

I show up at the field office just before 9 a.m. and I stop in my tracks when I see her sitting in the reception area.

She stands with an anxious look on her face. "How would this work?"

My mind has been so fixated on what I have to do at work today that I'm completely caught off guard by her presence and her question. It feels like I'm untangling Christmas lights in my head, and it takes me a few seconds to make words flow out of my mouth.

"How would what work?"

"You and me…" She gulps. " _Us_."

"As in…" I gesture a finger from her to me. " _Us_ , us?"

She nods.

I take her by the hand and all but jog down the hallway towards my office.

I release her hand and eye Kevin. "I need the room."

He rolls his chair back and stares at us. "What for?"

" _Now_ , Kevin."

He gives me a look, but I don't care what he's thinking or if he's judging me. He slowly stands, grabs a folder off his desk and squeezes past Piper in the doorway.

I slam the door shut and push Piper's back against it as my lips crash into hers. The kiss reminds me of the first time we had sex at Litchfield when she drug me to the Chapel. It's hungry and demanding and I can't get enough of her. Piper's hands tangle in my hair as mine dip under her t-shirt to touch her bare skin. I reach up until my fingers come into contact with a taut nipple, and she moans. My head is spinning, and my skin is on fire.

After some length of time, I pull back and rest my forehead against hers. "What inspired this?"

She's out of breath. "You're the one who dragged me into your office."

I place a string of kisses across her cheek. "I mean coming here, asking me how this would work."

She tilts her head, giving me access to her glorious neck. "I haven't been able to stop thinking about you since the night at the club."

"Really?"

"Yes." It's Piper's turn to control the kissing, so she holds my face in her hands and kisses me. "I need to see if this could work."

"Clearly, it works," I reply, positioning my body fully against hers.

She pulls back, wiping her lip. "Not just the physical stuff—that part is easy for us."

I hold both her hands in mine. "Have you talked to Mia yet?"

She shakes her head.

"Call her today," I plead. "She'll be able to provide more insight than I can."

"Ok."

"It _can_ work." I kiss her on the temple. "I want that very much."

Piper blinks up at me. "So do I."

"While I would love nothing more than to ravage you for the next hour, today is extremely important for this case I'm working on." I straighten the hem of her shirt.

She kisses my jawline. "Can we see each other later?"

"God, I hope so, but I can't make any promises."

"Nicky is out of town the next three nights. Come over if you can."

I nod, kissing her a final time. "I'll be in touch."

Before she exits the office, I stop her. "I'm glad you came."

She smiles. "Me, too."

Piper exits, and I'm over the moon. I run a hand through my hair and giggle like a school girl. The moment of bliss is short lived as Kevin walks in.

He plops the folder onto his desk with a grin. "You might want to run a brush through your hair."

"And maybe put some lipstick on?" I blush.

"That, too." He sits down. "Tell me as little or as much as you want."

I don't tell him much—only that Piper has been the most important person in my adult life, and we're going to try to make things work. He congratulates me, and then we settle in to work.

* * *

Hoping you found this to be a long, satisfying chapter. Let me know! Two more chapters to go.


	7. Chapter 7

It's rare when I have difficulty concentrating, but damned if I can keep a thought in my head for longer than a minute. I find myself thinking about Piper at every turn, lips tugging up when I recall our makeout session this morning. It thrills me beyond belief that she wants to take a stab at a relationship. I know we're not going to suddenly be one happy couple without a care in the world—she has to get more information about what it means to be the other half of an undercover agent. She'll also have to be willing to live with how risky and dangerous my job is. Then again, she did that for a year when I was in the drug cartel. Piper has always enjoyed adventure, but we're older now with more at stake, so I need to be sure she enters this relationship with eyes wide open.

At 4:15 that afternoon, I head to Trentina, this time with Kevin in disguise, too. He's still in the car a block away, but if he needs to enter the restaurant if things go sideways, he has to be undercover as my airline pilot boyfriend.

"Hi, Anthony."

He grins. "I was hoping you'd make it in today."

"As promised." I sit on the bar stool. "I'm eager to try what you have."

There's no one else at the bar this afternoon, so I'm hoping he feels free to bring out the drugs without consequence.

Anthony goes into the kitchen, returning with a small velvet pouch. He takes a plastic bag out and shows it to me. "100% pure cocaine from Peru. It's not that dime bag, generic coke you'd find on the streets. This stuff will give you a surge of peaceful euphoria, alertness, and a feeling of power and energy. Afterwards, you'll feel confident and happy."

I tilt it towards the light. "Nice."

"Do only one line at first, otherwise, you might feel anxious. Give it about 10 minutes to feel the full effect."

"What are the side effects coming down from the high?"

"This stuff isn't laced with contaminants; there are virtually no side effects." He slips it back in the pouch. "It retails for about $150-$175 an ounce, but you're a friend, so the $100 will do."

I put it into my purse. "Can I get more if I like it?"

"Plenty more." Anthony laughs. "But not from me. I don't usually concern myself with small sales."

"How many dealers do you distribute to?"

He pours a glass of wine, sliding it towards me. "I leave that part up to Adamo." He has no fucking idea what he just stepped into.

I stand. "Mind if I try it?"

By this point, I'm sure Kevin has communicated all of this to the field office, and they're deciding if they want to make the bust here and now or wait for Adamo to be in the building.

I enter the restroom, opening both stalls to make sure no one is inside. I also check the walls and ceiling for cameras or listening devices and find none. "I can't confirm Adamo's presence," I say into the microphone. "And I don't know how much cocaine is on site. I'm going to stay in place another ten minutes."

I walk back to the bar, smiling at Anthony, and in the five minutes I was away, a couple has arrived and taken seats at the other end of the bar.

He makes a cutting motion towards me, signaling for me to keep my mouth shut about the drugs. I do my best to gradually act high.

A few minutes later, Anthony approaches me. "How are you doing?"

"Great." I giggle. "I should probably go though. I don't want to act like a fool in the restaurant." I take a huge gulp of wine. "I'll be back tomorrow."

"You going to be ok getting home?"

"I'll be fine." I wink at him. "Thank you."

I exit the restaurant, walk around the block to make sure I'm not being followed, and then head to Kevin's car.

"Did you get all that?"

"Sure did." He puts the car in gear. "Nice work."

I pull out the pouch of cocaine. "Can't wait to test this stuff."

"We're going to do that right now."

Kevin and I spend the next few hours at the field office, conversing with our field supervisor and Agent Thompson about when we'll make the bust. The test of the cocaine came back, and it is indeed the purest of pure products. Finally, I feel like I'm back in the good graces of the powers that be.

After work, I decide to take the Subway to Piper's apartment without calling. It's a risk to assume she's home at 8:30 on a Thursday night, but I want to surprise her. If she's not there, I'll leave a note and text her later.

As I make my way up the Subway platform and onto the main street, I sense someone following me. I turn right on W 132nd Street instead of the left I should be making to get to Piper's apartment and use my phone as a sort of mirror to confirm that the man is indeed following me. I make another right and wait for him to turn the corner. As soon as he does, I take him by the shoulders and shove him against a building.

The man is several inches shorter than me, and I can use my height to intimidate him as I breathe down on him. "Why the fuck are you following me?"

He holds his hands in the air. "I'm not following you."

"Bullshit." I shove my forearm against his neck. "Wait a second, I know you. You're a waiter at Trentina."

He looks down for a second, and then lifts his eyes. "I can't deny it; I'm attracted to you, Juliet."

As far as I know, this man has only seen _Juliet_ with red hair and different glasses, so for him to recognize me is alarming. He must know that I've been undercover.

"Don't lie to me!" I push my arm harder against his neck, making it difficult for him to breathe. With my free hand, I unclip the strap of my purse, shoving it into the back of my pants. "Who sent you?" In one quick motion, I spin the man around, one hand on the back of his head, pressing his cheek into the red bricks and tying his hands behind his back with the strap of my purse.

"Ah, you're hurting me!" he squeals.

"I'm just getting started." I pull out my phone, hit two buttons and Kevin answers.

"I've been followed. I recognize this guy from Trentina." I give him my location.

"Does he know that _you_ know you're being followed?"

I push him against the wall harder as he struggles to get free. "I've apprehended him."

"I'll get someone down there immediately," Kevin replies. "Be careful."

"Who sent you?" I repeat, shoving my phone into my pocket and using both hands to keep the scrawny man in place.

"No one."

I pull his long, curly hair and slam his head against the brick wall. "Wanna try again?"

"Ahhh!" He cries out in pain. "Adamo! Adamo sent me."

"I thought that might be the case." I slam his head one more time, and he's now bleeding. "If I ever see you again, I will fuck you up so bad your family won't even recognize you. Is that clear?"

He nods, fear in his eyes.

Two people approach the situation. "Looks like you could use a hand."

"Identify yourselves," I demand.

One of them pulls out an FBI badge. "Agents Tandy and Zheng."

Although I've never been part of a situation like this, I learned in training that if an agent is in danger, all branches of the criminal justice system are notified. Whichever agents or officers are closest to the scene will arrive within minutes and backup will arrive shortly thereafter. I have an app on my phone that would've allowed me to send the notification myself, but it's buried somewhere in a folder. It was far easier to just call Kevin.

I yank my badge from my back pocket. "This guy was following me. He works for the restaurant where I've been on a case."

The female agent pulls out a pair of handcuffs, replacing my purse strap with proper cuffs. "Nice work with this." She hands the strap back to me.

The male agent questions the perpetrator. "Sir were you following this woman?"

"No!" He holds the back of his bleeding head. "Fuck you, Juliet! Adamo will have the last word. You'll see."

I don't respond to his threats. The police arrive, taking statements from both of us, and then they shove him into a car.

"We're taking him down to the station," an officer states. "Have your people meet us down there."

"Thanks." I call Kevin again and explain what transpired, and he agrees to meet me at the station and will notify Agent Thompson of the situation.

After an hour of interrogation, we learn that Adamo sent this thug to spy on me. He did not have direct orders to hurt me; rather, he was told to find out more about my life—where I live, where I work, who my friends are, etc. The outcome of the interrogation doesn't change the way we'll proceed tomorrow. The man will be retained until the DEA allows his release (unless there are criminal charges we need to bring against _him_.)

I leave the police station deciding to continue with my plan to go to Piper's apartment despite the late hour and my exhaustion. I knock on the door, stepping back and waiting for her to answer. Sure enough the door opens.

Her smile lights up the room. "What are you doing here?"

She has on cotton shorts and a black tank top with no bra.

"Coming to show you how this would work." I step inside and kiss her.

She tugs me inside by the waist and shuts the door with her foot. "Like this?"

Our lips are locked, and arms circle each other as we bump into the back of the sofa.

"How was your day?" she asks, slipping her hand under my shirt.

"It started out good." I keep my fingers on the exterior of her tank top, teasing her nipple through the fabric. "But I had an altercation a few hours ago."

She pulls back, hands frozen against my chest. "An altercation?"

I run a hand through my hair. "A man was following me, trying to get information about the case I'm working on."

"Are you in danger?"

"I'm always in danger." I let out a light chuckle, trying to make light of a serious situation.

Piper steps back, and the sexually charged moment has disappeared. "Was he trying to hurt you?"

"No." I sit on the arm of the sofa, reaching a hand out to take one of hers. "At least that's what he told us." I squeeze her hand as she takes a step closer. "Things like this are going to happen, Piper. There's no way for me to know where or when." I stand again, this time taking both hands in mine. "But I promise I'll be careful, and I'll always protect you."

She folds me into her arms.

After tonight, I realized that Anthony and Adamo are the lead guys in the drug ring, but several other employees must have a role, too. "Anyway, we're going to bust these guys tomorrow, and there's a good chance they'll all go straight to prison."

"Does that mean you'll be safe?"

I kiss the top of her head. " _Safer_ at least."

Piper lifts her eyes and the desire is back. "Did you have to play the role of Juliet today?" She begins unbuttoning my blouse.

I lower my hand to her ass. "Yes."

"You were hot as Juliet," she says, sucking my earlobe.

"I'm glad you like both of us," I chuckle, dipping my chin down and kissing her again.

It doesn't take long before we're both naked and writhing in each other's arms on the sofa. Eventually, we move to the bed where our last round of sex ends with Piper's legs draped over my shoulders.

"I almost forgot what sex with you was like," she pants.

I trace patterns on her chest. "It's nice to be reminded."

She props herself up on her elbow. "I talked to Mia today."

"You did?" I'm surprised she made that happen so quickly. "Why didn't you tell me that the moment I came to the door?"

"I was occupied with the kissing at first, and then you told me you were being followed."

"Mmm."

"I'm meeting her on Monday for happy hour," Piper says.

"Good." I kiss her nose. "Just don't go to Trentina. I don't think it'll be open then anyway."

"They'll shut down the restaurant?"

"What they're doing is illegal, so yeah."

She lays halfway across my body. "I read some books on undercover work."

"I figured you would," I chuckle, tickled by her effort to understand my job better.

I feel her fingertips drawing circles on my hip. "It's dangerous."

"I've never denied that."

"And it makes me uncomfortable," she admits.

"I can imagine." I adjust my body further up on the headboard until she has to lift her head. "I don't want you to get into anything that makes you uncomfortable. I mean, I want to be with you, but not if you're constantly worried about my safety."

"It's natural to worry." She shrugs. "I'm sure Mia can give me more insight into how she's dealt with it over the years."

I kiss her firmly. "I'm sure she can."

"Now, where were we?" I dip my hand under the covers to her center, and we spend the rest of the night having mind-blowing sex.


	8. Chapter 8

I kiss Piper lightly on the forehead and watch her sleep for a minute before I have to leave. I smile the entire way to the field office at the thought of being with her. I love everything about that woman, well everything except how stubborn she can be. I love her touch, her sense of humor, her desire to understand everything, her body, her smile, her way with words. Even though I was in bed with her within the hour, I already can't wait to see her tonight.

I spend the majority of the day with a team of agents discussing how we're going to bust the drug ring at Trentina today, and Agent Thompson agrees that I should go undercover one last time as Juliet and show up at my regular time. After all, there's no way the man who was following me yesterday contacted Adamo after we apprehended him, so other than Adamo's deepening suspicion, he has no way of knowing who I really am.

I show up at Trentina at 4:15, and two agents are already there, wrapping up a late lunch.

"Hi, Juliet," Anthony greets me, leaning forward a little and whispers, "How'd the stuff work out for you?"

I smile. "It was fabulous."

"Glad to hear it." He holds up a couple bottles of wine. "There's plenty more where that came from, but like I said, I'll have to connect you with someone else who can supply it."

I point to the bottle of Chianti. "Sounds good."

Kevin walks in the door with another agent, both men dressed in suits. They head over to the bar, sitting three seats down from me.

Anthony excuses himself to take their order, and I try to peek through the serving window to see if Adamo is here. If he's not, which would be rare for a Tuesday, we'll have to abandon the operation.

Fifteen minutes later, two more agents arrive and ask the hostess if the owner is in. She goes to the back, returning moments later with Adamo.

"How may I help you?" he asks.

"We're with the department of health and here for your annual inspection," one agent says.

"I haven't received word that your coming." Adamo looks suspicious. "Usually they give me at least three or four days' notice."

The agents confirm his name and e-mail address, and then pull out a fake printout of the sent e-mail. "Sorry to catch you off guard, sir, but we can't reschedule."

"This is ludicrous." Adamo throws his hands in the air. "I'm not ready for an inspection!"

"If you're safely handling food, there should be no reason for concern," one agent replies, glancing at the letter grade of "A" posted on a sign in the door from the Department of Health's last visit. "And from what I can tell, you've had no problems with that in the past."

The other agent chimes in, "We'll be out of your hair in less than an hour."

"Anthony, will you come up here please?"

He joins Adamo off to the side of the restaurant.

He folds his arms. "These men are from the Department of Health and want to do an inspection today."

Anthony fidgets with the strings of his apron. "We must insist that you come back tomorrow."

Kevin eyes me.

"We have this permit for today," the agent says, handing Anthony the fake e-mail and an inspection permit. "As we've said to the owner, we'll be out of here in no time. Now, please show us the way to the kitchen."

Adamo and Anthony exchange glances as they slowly walk to the kitchen. They walk through the door, and I immediately hear one of the agents yell, "Whoa, whoa, whoa!"

As planned, I venture into the kitchen, my body positioned halfway through the swinging door. "Is everything ok?" I see Adamo holding a pistol pointed at the agents. "What's going on here?"

"This doesn't concern you, Juliet," Adamo replies. "Move this way." He instructs the agents to stand near the ovens.

Kevin and the other agent blast through the other door, guns drawn. "Federal agents, drop your weapon!"

As Adamo and Anthony turn to look at who is making such a request, the two fake Department of Health agents and I pull out our guns.

"Is this some kind of raid?" Anthony asks, hands in the air.

"I'm not going to ask again! Drop your weapon!" Kevin orders.

Adamo aims his gun at Kevin, and I move swiftly forward, clocking him on the head with my gun. A shot rings out, missing Kevin's head by inches. The other agents tackle both men as Adamo's pistol slides away. I quickly grab the gun and move to secure the rest of the employees in the kitchen with the help of the agent who was at the bar with Kevin. One of the two agents who was dining in the restaurant busts in, helping me line up three employees against wall, hands over their heads. We frisk them, and then make sure there are no knives or sharp objects near enough for any of them to reach for one.

"We've secured the front end," an agent says. "Two females apprehended."

"You ok?" I ask Kevin from across the room.

"Yeah." Kevin looks visibly shaken, but he proceeds with the task at hand, shoving a knee into Adamo's back and cuffing him.

Just then, four more agents enter from the back alley and help us secure the premises. We're all communicating effectively, and I train my ears on the agents' voices instead of the venom spewing out of Adamo and Anthony's mouths. I hear a few words directed at me, but I don't let them get to me. Agent Thompson assigns me to check the restrooms, and I'm grateful to be out of the fray.

"All clear," I say into the mic. I lower my head and take a few deep breaths. It's over.

After every Trentina employee is whisked away, a small team of us spend the next hour, going through boxes, cupboards, freezers and drawers, looking for drugs. We end up confiscating at least a hundred pounds of drugs that are worth millions of dollars. We also get our hands on paper records that Adamo kept in a safe with a list of people he's sold drugs to over the past year. All in all, we've captured the motherload.

"That was a close call," I say to Kevin as we finally leave the restaurant.

He grins. "I've had closer."

"Big shot, huh?" I nudge him with my shoulder.

"It _was_ a close one." He sobers. "Thanks for having my back."

"Always."

In a rare moment, we hug, and it feels good. I'm reminded how much Kevin means to me professionally and personally. If anything happened to him, I don't know what I'd do.

He releases me. "I'm going to go home to my wife now, have a strong drink, and call it a day."

"Enjoy. See you tomorrow."

As Kevin walks in the opposite direction, he turns around. "You did a good job on this case, Alex. _Really_ good."

"Thanks." I smile.

"But you're going to be the one bored stiff in the car on our next case," he quips. "Time for me to get in on the action."

I chuckle. "Deal."

* * *

As I walk to the Subway station, I pull out my phone to see a text that Piper sent about an hour ago.

 _Just finished meeting with Mia. She was a font of knowledge._

 _Good to hear._

 _Did you bust the bad guys today?_

 _Yes. Had to draw my weapon._

 _Why do I find that so fucking hot?_

I smile as I type. _Can I come over?_

 _Yes_.

I take the Subway to Piper's house, checking my watch every minute and itching to touch her. When I arrive, she greets me at the door wearing the blouse I left there the other night. She only has two middle buttons fastened, and as I scan her body, I see through the slit at the bottom that she's wearing light pink, lacy underwear.

I cup her face in my hand and stare into her dark, hungry eyes. "Hi."

"Juliet." She bites her lower lip. "Come in."

Our bodies collide and our hands roam all over each other. I kiss a line down her chest, onto her stomach and finally on her center. I pull her underwear to the side and eat her pussy as she stands with her back against the door. That leads to sex on the sofa, sex on the floor, and ultimately sex in her bed. By our third round, my red wig and glasses are long gone, and I'm back to being _Alex_.

"I might need a little break," she pants.

I chuckle. "That would probably be good for both of us."

We don't get much sleep that night, but neither of us complains the next morning.

* * *

EPILOGUE

In the past Piper and I never really put in the work that long-lasting relationships need and deserve. We flew by the seat of our pants, adventure being the catalyst for the first time we took a stab at a relationship and the confinement of prison being the catalyst for the second. On this our third attempt, we've been together for four months, and we're learning to communicate more effectively, trust each other, ask clarifying questions, respect and accept each other's opinions, and solve problems. She meets with Mia every week to discuss the intricacies of being coupled with an undercover agent, and I answer her questions as best as I can under the circumstances. Piper finally seems to understand the seriousness of my job and doesn't get in the way when I'm on a case.

She has, however, not let up on the whole role-playing thing. I'm up for just about anything in the bedroom, but it would feel strange to be one of the characters I've played for work. I promised I'd create a character just for her, so Piper came up with certain parameters and I've been working on this persona for the past week. I'm to be a wealthy aristocrat from the UK and only just discovering my attraction to women. Piper wants my hair to remain black but worn differently (I go with loose curls) and a new pair of glasses (round, clear frames). I wear a black, one-shoulder dress and red pumps.

We decide to meet some place where it's unlikely anyone we know will find us, which takes us to a cocktail lounge near Wall Street. I fit in perfectly with the financial executives in their Brooks Brothers suits and dresses as I wait for Piper to arrive. At half past six, she saunters in and takes my breath away. I had no idea _she_ was going to role play along with me. She has blonde extensions, so her hair cascades down to her breasts, and she's wearing secretary glasses similar to my real ones. Her magenta dress wraps around her waist leading to a ruffle that runs diagonally across her body.

I stand, lifting my hand to direct her to my position at the long, mahogany bar. She smiles, slowly walking towards me and I can't help swallowing hard as I take in her long, slender body.

"Hi, I'm Angelica," she announces with a light handshake.

"Olivia." I smirk. "Care to join me?"

She sits on the stool next to mine and the slit in her dress opens slightly. My eyes are drawn to her thigh, but I don't reach out to touch it yet. I rake my eyes over her body, hoping she understands she has my _full_ approval.

I wave down the bartender and order a dirty martini in my best fake British accent. Piper gets a gin and tonic.

"What brings you to New York?" she asks.

"My uncle has business in the city, and I thought I'd tag along, do some shopping, see the sites."

She bites her lip, and I can tell she's as turned on by me as I am by her.

"You?"

"There's an LGBTQ conference in town," she replies, accepting her cocktail from the bartender.

"Ah." I tap my glass against hers. "Is that your subtle way of telling me you're a lesbian?"

She tilts her head. "Was I being subtle?"

"I suppose not." I grin. "Well, I'm not gay, so…"

She rubs my leg. "So it wouldn't bother you if I did this?"

I take a sip of my martini. "Not at all."

Piper lifts her hand, brushing curls off my bare shoulder, then letting her fingertips travel across my clavicle. "Or this?"

I clench my jaw, trying to will myself not to touch her yet. "You have soft hands." It's no use. I hold the hand that had been touching me, flipping it over and gently caressing her skin.

"So do you," she replies, untangling our linked fingers and placing my hand on her exposed thigh.

I suck in a deep breath as her dress opens a little more, and my fingertips rest high on Piper's thigh. I let them travel up and down, watching her leg get goosebumps from my caress. I look up to see desire pooling in her eyes.

"You've never been with a woman?"

I take another sip of my drink. "Once, but that was a long time ago."

"What was it like?" I set my glass on the bar and she joins our hands.

I lick my lips. "Soft, gentle…until a certain point."

Piper stands between my legs, draping her arms over my shoulders. "A certain point?"

I nod. "The sex was pretty aggressive…passionate."

She leans down to kiss my cheek, then my jawline, then my mouth. I'm sure we're drawing some attention from other patrons in the bar, but I don't think I could stop this even if I tried.

She whispers in my ear, "Did you taste her?"

I close my eyes, letting my head fall back. "Yes."

She switches to my other ear. "Did you like it?"

"Yes," comes out in a low moan.

She pulls back, staring at me with those familiar blue eyes. "Maybe you'd be willing to try it again?"

"I'm staying a block away at the Beekman," I say, fishing out a few bills from my wallet. "Interested in checking out my room?"

Piper nods. "I'd love to."

She has no idea that I booked a hotel room, so when we arrive at the Beekman and check-in, I can see the shock and desire on her face. She follows me into the elevator where another couple gets in with us. We stand to the side, and I hook my arm around her waist and lean down to kiss her shoulder. The couple gives us an uncomfortable glance, and then gets out on the sixth floor. We're on the seventh, so we get to the room, I fumble with the plastic key, and then we're inside. Piper thrusts me against the wall, ravishing me. We can't touch enough skin, and my mouth isn't satisfied with only kissing inches of her body at a time. I reach my hand in the slit of her dress, pulling her closer by the back of her thigh.

"You're so fucking sexy," she pants.

I hold her face in my hands and kiss her passionately. "So are you."

We stumble to the bed, halfway undressing each other, but I stop her before she takes the dress completely off. I kneel on the ground, pushing magenta fabric aside and diving in with my face. I pull her lacey thong to the side and lick her. Her pussy is already wet, and as I pull away, I see a string of cum stretch from her center to my mouth. I dive in again, licking and swallowing her juices. Piper is writhing on the bed, trying to hold my head in place, but I'm aggressively licking her and inserting two fingers into her opening. With less than 10 pumps, she cums against my mouth, and I feel her insides quiver around my fingers.

"Fuck, Alex!"

As she breathes heavily, arm strewn across her forehead, I climb up next to her and smirk.

"Good?"

" _Fuck_ ," is all she can manage.

"So this whole role-playing thing…" I place gentle kisses along her neck and massage her breast. "Really got you going?"

"Yes." She turns to face me. "But I think now, I want to make love to Alex."

I let out a low chuckle. "I could get behind that."

With that, Piper spends an inordinate amount of time licking, sucking and caressing my body. I could get used to this.

* * *

And so our relationship goes—we enjoy role playing every few months, but we prefer being ourselves, sharing our lives and caring for each other the way two people in love should. Our relationship this third time around is more mature and grounded, and I would be surprised if we didn't spend the rest of our lives together. Just think of the stories we'll have.

The End

* * *

Author's Note: Thank you so much for reading and for all the reviews!


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